, and by pulling one or two of the
other pieces of china forward a little, I managed to make it look as if
the cup was just accidentally hidden. To reach up to do this, I had to
draw forward a chair; in getting down from it again I made some little
noise, and I looked round in terror to see if grandmother was awake. No,
she was still sleeping soundly. _What_ a blessing! I got out of one of
the book cupboards a book I had read twenty times at least, and sitting
down on a stool by the fire I pretended to read it again, while really
all my ideas were running on what I should, what I _could_ do. For I had
no manner of doubt that before long the accident would be discovered, and
I felt sure that my grandmother's displeasure would be very severe. I
knew too that my having tried to conceal it would make her far less ready
to forgive me, and yet I felt that I _could_ not make up my mind to
confess it all. I was so miserable that it was the greatest relief to me
a minute or two afterwards to hear the hall door open and my father's
hearty voice on the stair."

"'I have come to fetch you rather sooner than I said, little woman,' he
exclaimed, as he came in, and then he explained that he had promised to
drive a friend who lived near us home from the town in our gig, and that
this friend being in a hurry, we must leave earlier than usual. My
grandmother had wakened up of course with my father's coming in. It
seemed to me, or was it my fancy?--that she looked graver than usual and
rather sad as she bade us good-bye. She kissed me very kindly, more
tenderly than was her habit, and said to my father that he must be sure
to bring me again very soon, so that as I was going downstairs with him,
he said to me that he was glad to see how fond grandmother was getting of
me, and that he would bring me again next week. _I_ did not feel at all
pleased at this--I felt more unhappy than ever I had done in my life, so
that my father, noticing it, asked what was the matter. I replied that I
was tired and that I did not care for going to grandmother's, and then,
when I saw that this ungracious answer vexed my kind father, I felt more
and more unhappy. Every moment as we walked along--we were to meet the
carriage at the inn where it had been left--the bits of broken china in
my pocket bumped against my leg, as if they would not let themselves be
forgotten. I wished I could stop and throw them away, but that was
impossible. I trudged along, gloomy and